


The Prick Of Thorns

by ladyoneill



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Female Stiles Stilinski, Forced Bonding, Mating, Mating Bond, Rape, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2069016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A direct sequel to "The Next Move", Stiles comes back from Lydia's party to find a very much alive Peter waiting for her.  A month before he gave her a choice.  He can no longer turn her into a werewolf, but the bite he offered her was more than that.  This time, he's not giving her a choice, except to choose either the easy or hard way.  Stiles chooses the latter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prick Of Thorns

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Next Move](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1647761) by [ladyoneill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill). 



> A few people asked me to continue this. I highly doubt this is what they were wanting, but this is me. Peter is NOT nice Peter here. He doesn't take no for an answer. He rapes Stiles. He also comforts her afterwards. She's confused, hurting, hating him, but then she also, because she's Stiles, ends up talking to him. If any of that's going to trigger you, please don't read.

Standing in her doorway Stiles forces herself to breathe as evenly as she can, but she knows the werewolf on her bed can hear her racing heart. Fear bubbles beneath the surface of her skin and memories of their last encounter flood her mind.

She set him on fire.

Peter sits up, swings his legs over the side of the bed, rises so gracefully, but doesn't move towards her, just watches her, an enigmatic smile on his face.

"You're not surprised to see me."

It's not a question.

"Nothing really surprises me anymore." No, somehow she...she just knew that whatever was between them didn't end with his supposed death.

"Hm..." He sniffs at the rose in his hand again. "Do you know why I'm here?"

"Not to turn me. You can't." He had flashed blue eyes at her, not red, not Alpha.

The smile turns to a frown. "Yes, that is...unfortunate. I should have become the Alpha again."

A flash of panic. "Did...did you kill Derek?"

"No. He's a bit incapacitated, but still breathing. I suppose still the Alpha." Peter shoots her an annoyed look. "You can start researching that for me tomorrow."

"Yeah, no," Stiles bites back, then, as Peter suddenly stalks towards her, takes an awkward step back and bashes her shoulder blade into the doorframe. In an instant he's on her, hand holding the rose taking her wrist and she feels both the bite of thorns and claws on her tender skin, making her wince as she tries to pull free.

"Why am I here, Stiles?" he purrs as he tugs her into his body.

The scent of earth and musk and man fills her senses and she trembles in terror, eyes widening as Peter lifts her wrist to his mouth and sucks a kiss over her pounding pulse.

"What did I truly offer you that night?"

For a brief moment their eyes meet, his shining unnaturally blue, a cold blue, and Stiles nearly collapses into a heap of shaking bones and paling skin.

Dry mouthed, she licks her lips, sees him follow the motion, and suddenly wants to cry. "M--mate."

A smile crosses his face again, an unpleasant smile, and Peter releases her wrist.

The rose drops to the floor.

Stiles scuttles backwards until she hits the wall, and, when Peter closes her door, she squeezes her eyes shut against the sudden tears that sting them. When she hears him move away from her, she forces herself to blink them away. She can't be blind and she won't cry.

"This can go one of two ways, Stiles," he says conversationally as he shrugs out of his jacket, starts to toe off his shoes.

Nonononono...

"Easy or hard. Good for you or...well...not so good." His fingers go to the buttons of his dark red shirt and Stiles' mouth goes dry but not because of the well-muscled body he's revealing to her sixteen year old eyes.

She's terrified.

"No," she manages.

Not surprisingly, Peter ignores her and drapes his shirt over her desk chair before going for the buckle of his belt. "Easy and we start with mutual pleasure, a mating of minds and souls as well as bodies." He stops and looks at her. "You do realize what a mating will mean."

Again, not a question, and mouth bone dry, throat closing up, all she can do is nod. After his death, when she could think more clearly about the discussion in that garage, when she realized Peter offered her more than just to turn her, she researched the hell out of the bite on the wrist.

A mating, even a non-consensual one, even with a human, will bind them together in a monogamous, life-long relationship. It doesn't have to have anything to do with love or even desire. It's about anchoring and grounding, strengthening weaknesses, giving them position and power in any Pack.

A mated pair will produce the strongest children, always wolves, even if one of the mates stays human. Potential born Alphas only come from matings.

God...no...

"Wh--why do you want that...with me?" she manages to stammer out, heart leaping into her throat as he pulls off his belt and doubles it in his hands, examining the leather.

Mating doesn't stop one mate from hurting the other. Will he beat her to make her give in?

To her relief, Peter sets the belt down and thoughtfully drums his fingers on his lips. "I told you that night. You intrigue me. You challenge me."

"I'm sixteen!"

The dismissive noise he makes tells her he doesn't care about that at all, and her stomach clenches in fear. For a moment, she's desperately afraid she's going to be sick, but manages to fight down the bile rising in her throat.

"My dad'll kill you."

"You won't tell your father," Peter snorts derisively. "For one, you'd have to explain everything you've been keeping from him which would put him in danger, and, really, Stiles? You think I need your affection so much I won't kill him if I have to?"

Knees buckling, Stiles feels herself go white as she slides awkwardly to the floor. When she looks up again, Peter's folding his pants and placing them on the desk chair, leaving him in navy boxer briefs that do nothing to hide anything.

Her mouth goes even drier.

He's already...already...hard.

And then he's crouched in front of her and his dick is right there. She tries to squirm away, but his hands hit the wall next to her, arms bracketing her and he leans closer and draws in her scent through flaring nostrils.

"We never got to option two. The hard way."

Stiles isn't stupid. She knows what that means, but... Bravely she forces her eyes up and glares at him. "Since I have to live with myself, the easy way was never an option."

Sighing, Peter shakes his head, and then he's on her, dragging her to her feet and throwing her onto her bed. Before she can scramble away, he strips off his boxers and, oh God...She can't look at it, just can't.

Terror nearly causes her to change her mind, to beg him not to hurt her, but...the words freeze on her tongue, and then he's pulling at her clothes, ripping them from her, leaving sore marks where the material burns against her skin. She struggles, beating at him, but she knows it's all futile. She can't physically hurt him.

She can't stop him.

But she'll damn well try.

So, Stiles argues. "You're binding yourself to me forever? A sixteen year old girl? Why? Tell me the real reason why, dammit!"

Straddling her kicking legs as he tugs down her jeans, ignoring her hands that hit and scratch at him, Peter gives her a hard look. "Power. Stability. An anchor. You think I don't know how psychotic I was when I was the Alpha? How easy it would be to slip back to that? Having a mate will pacify my wolf, calm my mind and my urge to kill. Just the thought of you kept me from instinctively killing Derek earlier tonight. I don't want to become Alpha by killing another member of my family. Having a mate, having you, will help subdue the raging urges. I can bide my time to become the Alpha again." He throws the jeans over his shoulder and crashes down on her, hands grabbing for her wrists, pinning her so easily.

"You're still psychotic! Doing this...Jesus, Peter, I think I prefer the killer over the rapist."

"Once we're mated," he begins, voice low and hard, "You'll be drawn to me. You'll come to crave my touch."

"Against my will," she chokes out. "That's rape."

To her dismay, he just shrugs and reaches between them to rip her panties--the last barrier--away. Stiles' shriek is cut off by his mouth on hers. The kiss is hard, bruising, but when his tongue slips between her lips, she bites.

Jerking back, blood dripping over his lip and chin, Peter growls down at her. "Enough," he roars, and easily, too easily, flips her onto her stomach. For a moment she flails, then reaches back to hit any bit of him she can find. One of his hands grabs the nape of her neck, smashing her face into her pillow, while the other wraps around her squirming hips and drags her to her knees.

Gasping for air, Stiles manages to turn her head just enough to breathe and then feels it. His cock between her spread and shaking legs, pressing against her. Through the fear, a thought hits and her eyes widen. "Please...please...Peter use a condom." Oh God, if he doesn't...

"No," he denies her, his voice hard, and as she struggles even more frantically, he pushes into her.

It hurts.

She's not at all aroused. Tight, dry, virginal... Nothing bigger than one of her own fingers has ever been inside her. Tears spark in her eyes again and she squeezes them closed. She'll cry later. She just has to get through this.

Grunting, Peter pushes into her harder, spreads her open, and she feels impaled. She'd only seen his cock trapped by his briefs, but she knew it was big. It's long, too, and it seems like forever as he goes deeper and deeper into her, punching through her hymen, tearing her, until, finally, his pelvis lightly slaps her ass. There's a burning inside her and her legs ache from trembling, and she's so full and, God, it hurts so much.

Stiles stops trying to hit him, lets her hands fall limply to the bed, and is panting harshly against the throbbing pain when he pulls back and thrusts again.

She buries her cry in the pillow. It hurts. Damn, it hurts.

As if he realizes the fight's gone out of her, Peter releases her neck, takes both her hips, and fucks her.

It's jarring. It's hard. It's fast. Behind her he's panting wetly, his fingers digging bruises into her hips and thighs, his skin sweaty and slick against hers. He drives her forward until her head glances off the headboard, forcing her to use one hand to brace herself. She's still shaking all over from pain and fear, and it's not easing. With every thrust she just feels more raw and torn and broken.

The tears are burning her eyes but she won't let them fall.

Peter's talking, muttering, murmuring, cursing, but she tunes him out, tries to tune out the noises of his pleasure, but that's more difficult. Somehow she controls her own mouth, just gasping for air and waiting.

It has to end soon, right?

Hour long fucking in porn isn't real, even with werewolves, right?

Oh God, she can't take much more.

And then he pulls out of her, but he didn't...she's pretty sure he didn't... Confused, Stiles finds herself on her back, Peter spreading her legs wider, moving between them, and, yeah, he's still hard.

And there's blood...

Stiles gags, looks away, tries to wriggle away, but he's inside her again and she can't hold in her cry of shocked pain at the new angle. Her hands flail, beating at his chest and he catches the right, yanking her up so that's she's half sitting on his lap, and he's still fucking into her and the pain nearly makes her black out.

Before she's even aware, his teeth are fastened around her wrist and his own right wrist is pressed to her slack and open mouth.

Peter shifts and his fangs distend, puncture her skin. Again, Stiles shrieks, this time at the shocking, tearing pain, and her own teeth bite in retaliation. Blood trickles into her mouth, and she's going to be sick, so sick, and...

Something new blooms inside her mind, her body, and she goes limp. At the same time she pulls back from his wrist, Peter's fangs slip from her torn flesh, and she collapses into him.

Gently, more gently than he's been the whole night, he lays her down, comes over her, thrusting slowly but powerfully. It still hurts and the tears still sting her once again closed eyes, but this time when he kisses her and the taste of their blood mingles, she doesn't bite. Remaining passive and still, she doesn't return it, but doesn't try to stop him from kissing her deeply, possessively. As his hips speed up, Peter gasps into her mouth, and then it's over. 

He comes. She can feel his hips stuttering, his cock twitching, his semen wetting her.

Stiles is too exhausted to do more than stare blankly past Peter's shoulder before he slips from her sore, trembling body and curls into her, arms around her waist and beneath her breasts--breasts he barely looked at, didn't touch--face tucked into her neck as he breathes into her skin, leg pinning her to the bed, as if she has the energy left to run.

"Can you feel it?" Peter murmurs. "The bond forming?"

Slowly Stiles opens her eyes, but unable to bear to look at him or her own body, lifts them blindly to the ceiling. She can feel something.

And she hates it.

Hates him.

"I hate you." Even to her own ears her voice sounds wrecked.

"I know," is his soft reply, followed by a tender kiss to her cheek which makes her shudder. "I wish it hadn't been this way. It'll make your acceptance so much more difficult for you."

"Blaming the victim, Peter?" somehow she finds the energy to snap.

"No. This is all on me, darling girl." Is that regret in his voice? Stiles refuses to believe it and tries to pull away from him.

To her shock he lets her.

"If I leave to run a warm bath to soothe you, will you do something stupid?"

"Probably."

With a sigh, Peter hauls her kicking and wriggling body into his arms and off the bed, carrying her into the bathroom across the hall.

"Let me go!" Stiles claws at his shoulder, but can't even bruise him, the marks from her fingers fading before he even feels any pain. He does set her down, but it's on the closed toilet and only after he's closed and locked the bathroom door.

He's very naked.

As if she's just realized it, she flushes and wraps trembling arms around her own naked body and drops her eyes to the floor. He seems completely comfortable in his nudity. She's so very not.

And, even flaccid, he's big. God, that was inside her. No wonder she feels as if she's been torn apart. It hurts to sit, but she's pretty sure if she tries to stand, she'll keel over.

Peter starts the water, opens a bottle and sniffs it, then pours some of the peach scented bubble bath under the tap. "I wondered why you smelled like peaches." 

It's one of her few girly indulgences.

When the bath is two thirds full, he turns off the taps, then reaches for her. Stiles shies back, but there's nowhere to go. She is surprised when he, with her in his arms, climbs into the tub and sits, arranging her between his legs, her back to his chest, his arms loose around her stomach, but pinning her in place.

For a moment, the soapy water stings torn tissues, and she can't hold in a whimper, but slowly the heat and the familiar scent began to sooth away the aches. The shaking slows to tremors and her muscles, tight and sore, begin to relax. The soreness inside her remains, but she knows she'll heal. While she's not happy Peter's in the tub with her, holding her, she's too tired to do anything about it. 

When he reaches beneath the water, touches her thigh, she stiffens, but he only takes her right hand and lifts it in front of her face.

The puncture wounds in her wrist have scabbed over. As she vaguely notes that the matching mark on Peter has healed to pale scars, she's shocked at how fast her own is healing. It doesn't even hurt any more.

"Do you have magically healing saliva?"

Stiles feels him chuckle against her back before she hears it and he murmurs in her ear, "No. It's a side effect of the forming bond."

Then why doesn't it heal the rest of me? she nearly snaps at him, but bites it back and tries to pull her hand from his.

His grip tightens until she growls in frustration. "Let me go."

"No."

"I really, really hate you." She does, seething hatred, and it's keeping her going, keeping her from breaking down into tears in front of him. Despite the pain between her legs, she squirms, trying to get away, and he just holds her closer.

"Stop that. You're hurting yourself."

"You hurt me," she yells and kicks at his shin, but the water prevents her from doing more than brush her foot against him.

Peter sighs into the top of her head, kisses her there, then lets her go to rise and step from the tub. Staring stupidly up at him, Stiles wraps her arms over her bare breasts, letting the bubbles hide her body from the waist down.

As he wraps a towel around his hips, he says, "I'm going to make you something to eat. You're much too thin. If you leave this bathroom before I get back, you won't like what I do to you."

"What are you afraid I'll do?" she snarls in response.

"Something stupid, like call Scott or your father or even the police. Flee out the window into the night. Find a weapon and try to kill me." Shrugging his shoulders, he points to the bath. "Bathe, relax, clean up. I'll bring you some clothes in a moment, but I want you here when I come back. You have...oh, fifteen minutes."

"Why don't you just leave?" she yells at him, hands splashing down hard into the water in frustration.

"The bond has to set." Turning from her, he exits the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

Stiles stares after him and, for a moment, wants to jump out, run to her room, find her phone, but...

The threat to her dad...

A tear, long held in, slides slowly down her cheek, and she sniffles, then finally starts to cry. Even though it hurts, she drags her knees up, burying her face in them to muffle the sound, and lets her tense shoulders finally shake with quiet sobs.

When the door opens, she's still crying and she desperately tries to stop, but Peter doesn't say anything, and a few seconds later the door closes again.

Finally, Stiles calms down, the tears and sobs slow and then cease. The tension having slipped from her body with the emotional release of crying, she feels shaky but somewhat better. The water's tepid now, and she reaches forward to pull the stopper, then levers herself to her feet. Her legs tremble, but hold her up, and she turns on the water again, pulling the knob for the shower. Hot water hits her and she gives herself two minutes to stand beneath it, soaking her bruised and tender skin, her sweaty hair, before reaching for the soap.

Rough with most of her body, she takes more care between her legs, hissing at the feel of very sore, abraded flesh. The washcloth she uses comes away pinked with blood and...streaked with something else, something opaque. 

Peter's cum.

As she stares numbly at the cloth, her other hand goes to her flat stomach and she chokes out a breath of air.

No, she can't be, won't be...

Angrily tossing down the washcloth, she reaches for her shampoo and quickly scrubs her hair, then, after rinsing, turns off the water and carefully steps out of the tub. The pain inside her flares, the muscles of her legs ache from strain, but she pushes through it. Grabbing a towel, she dries off before dressing in the clothes he left for her: panties, plaid cotton pajama bottoms and large red 49rs t-shirt, old and faded with both age and hundreds of washings.

Comfort clothes. The t-shirt was her dad's before she confiscated it to sleep in. 

Stiles rubs the towel through her short hair--it'll air dry in minutes--then hangs it and the one Peter returned over the shower rod, before finally, with a shaky breath, turning to face the mirror. Bracing her hands on the counter, she looks up at her reflection and tries to find something, anything...

The heat from the shower left her skin flushed. Her eyes are a bit red from crying, but, otherwise, she looks the same.

Normal.

Like anything will ever be normal again.

Slowly she lifts her right wrist and sees the scabs are scarring over, the mark turning a dark red. How soon before they've lightened like Peter's?

Why did she bite him back?

From her research she knows a mutual bite makes the mating stronger, binds both mates tighter together. She shouldn't have bitten him, but, he shoved his wrist against her mouth and when he bit her it hurt and she instinctively...

Shit.

He knew she would.

Somehow he knows her. Even after only spending maybe an hour together before tonight, he knows her, how she thinks, how she'll react. Earlier, when she found him in her room, he knew she wouldn't try to run.

She's pretty sure he also knew she'd fight him.

Choosing the hard way.

What...what would easy have been like? Stiles can't help but wonder, especially with the change in him after the bite, those last five minutes or so when he'd been gentle, kissed her tenderly, held her as her body threatened to shake itself apart.

Could he have turned her on, made her come? After all, she's just a body. Despite her protestations--and silly romance novels where the heroine will just lie there like a martyr, suffering sex until the hero sweeps her off her feet and shows her what an orgasm is--she knows if she doesn't fight and he touches her and kisses her...She'll respond. Even with the memories of pain and...and rape...

Peter probably knows that, too.

Nibbling on her lower lip, she stares at her reflection and wonders just how much of herself she'll lose.

And how much she's already lost.

The door opens and Stiles turns to find Peter, dressed in his pants and untucked shirt, holding out his hand to her.

Slowly she shakes her head, but does limp past him and down the stairs, her hand tight on the bannister to keep from falling, because every step sends jolts of pain through her.

"Stubborn."

Even though he can't see it, she sticks her tongue out and glares at the floor.

On the kitchen table there are ham and cheese sandwiches with baby carrots for two accompanied by glasses of ice tea.

"There are chips in the pantry," she points out as she sits carefully, trying not to wince.

"There are some kind of no salt, low fat, baked abominations calling themselves chips in the pantry," he retorts as he joins her and takes a sip of his drink.

Stiles makes a face, because, well, he's not wrong, and mutters, "They're healthy."

"I reiterate, you're too thin."

"Tough shit. I'm not fattening up and getting overly curvy with big boobs and cleavage just to make you happy." Still, she is hungry--and finds that a bit odd considering--and takes a vicious bite of her sandwich, nearly moaning as just the right combination of mustard and mayonnaise mingles with the ham and cheddar in her mouth.

"I didn't say I want you fat. I want you healthy. You look like you've lost about ten pounds since the night of the dance. That was just over a month ago, Stiles, and you were slender to begin with."

"Yeah, well...it's been a hard month." With the Argents and the Kanima and her dad losing his job because of her and lacrosse and... It doesn't help that when she gets hyper focused on something like research, she forgets to eat, and Adderall affects her appetite to begin with. Taking another bite of her sandwich, she washes it down with some tea, carefully keeping an eye on Peter as he eats as well.

"Tell me about it." He grins, all teeth. It's not pleasant, and, she wonders if she's still going to pay for setting him on fire, helping Derek kill him, though that thought sends her off on a related tangent.

"How did you come back?"

"Lydia." Peter lays it out, how he sensed something in the girl he bit, how he placed a bit of himself within her, how, since Derek couldn't bring himself to cut him in half or burn him to ash, but buried him, he was able to come back using tonight's full moon. Stiles is appalled, and worried about Lydia, but also...a bit impressed.

Peter is very, very smart.

And, so is she, and very curious. Finishing her sandwich and carrots, Stiles drains her glass, then pushes away the plate to lean forward, arms crossed on the table. "What do you plan for me, Peter? I'm sixteen. I can't move in with you. I'm not dropping out of school to be your little housewife. My dad cannot know any of this."

"I have given this some thought."

"What, in the ten minutes you were back to life before coming here?"

He laughs at her sarcasm, at the return of her wit, and she finds that extremely annoying and glares at him while baring her teeth.

"I had a lot of time to think about you while nearly dead, my darling girl."

"Stop calling me that."

"Darling girl," he enunciates through a smirk which makes her scowl even harder. "As long as you don't do anything stupid, like encourage Derek to try to kill me again, or, try to kill me yourself, I won't press the point until you're eighteen. I won't tell your father anything. I'll avoid him like the plague. When I want you outside of school hours and time with your father, you'll be there, though if you want to keep up the pointless fighting, feel free. I'm confident I'll wear you down."

"I really, really hate you," she seethes.

Peter rolls his eyes. "Do you think I'm surprised by that?"

"What if Derek does kill you?"

"Don't be stupid," is his flat reply. "You researched mating bonds. What would my death do to you?" 

Stiles knows, but she purses her lips and stares at him, waiting for him to tell her.

"In some ways I guess I got lucky. The six year vegetative state kept me alive and kept me from killing myself. When a mating bond breaks...the survivor rarely lives long. Maybe ten percent find the will to go on. Maybe two percent are able to take another mate."

"You...?" This she didn't know, and she wonders how much of his psychosis was caused by his mate dying in the fire.

"Yes." He meets her eyes briefly and she can see the discomfort there before he looks away. "So, no stupid attempts to get me killed, and I will, of course, do my best to prevent you from getting hurt since I assume you won't stop meddling in the supernatural world.

All momentary feelings of understanding whisked away by that comment, Stiles snaps back, "Try and stop me."

Amused, Peter snorts. "Oh, I could, but you are very useful and I know how deadly you are. I'll teach you to fight. I think we'll avoid knives, but I suspect you already know how to use a gun."

Yeah, she doesn't like them much, but her dad made sure she's a good shot.

But, there's one more thing that they haven't talked about, one thing that will derail any attempt by her to keep this secret from her dad, because she's pretty sure that if she gets pregnant, Peter's not going to let her get an abortion.

"You didn't use a condom."

"No."

"I'm not on the pill or anything, you son of a bitch!" Because, for the most part, she's scared to death, she lets her anger bubble out. Stiles is pretty sure she can handle tonight's rape and those to come, being mated to the bastard across from her for the rest of their lives, Scott and Derek and the Pack knowing about it all, but she's not ready for a baby. She's not sure she ever wants kids.

"Of that I'm aware," is his calm reply that just makes her more angry and she slams one fist down on the table. 

"I get pregnant, how the hell do I keep that from my dad?"

"You don't. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. If you get pregnant before you turn eighteen, we will have to talk to him. By then, I hope that you will have accepted the mating, even come to care for me."

"Never going to happen."

He doesn't smirk or leer. The smile he gives her is a bit sad and makes her wonder about his prior mate, but she doesn't ask.

Stiles realizes what she really wants is Peter gone so she can have a screaming fit.

A glance at the clock on the microwave shows her that it's after three in the morning and when she realizes that, exhaustion hits hard and she yawns into her fist, before looking at him. "My dad will be home in three hours."

"I'll hear him pull into the driveway and leave before he gets inside."

"No, I want you to leave now."

"No."

"Gah!" Pushing away from the table, she stomps towards the stairs, ignoring every ache and throb of pain in her body, including the new ones in her temples. "I'm going on the pill," she yells back over her shoulder.

"No, you're not," is Peter's firm response before she hears the clink of dishes, indicating he's cleaning up, and Stiles wonders what he'll do to her if she disobeys him on this.

Probably tell her dad or hurt her dad or kill...

A possible pregnancy weighed against that...yeah, no, not worth the risk to her father to disobey.

The sandwich suddenly sits heavily in her stomach and she can't believe she just sat there and ate with him and talked to him less than an hour after he...

Entering her bedroom, Stiles stops and stares at the rumpled bed. There's a hint of a coppery scent in the air, mingling with a musk she guesses is Peter and sex. Even from the doorway, in the dim light from her bedside lamp, she can see the blood streaked in places on the sheets from the bites and the loss of her virginity. Swallowing hard, she retreats to the linen closet and fetches clean sheets and pillowcases. The comforter was kicked off to the floor early on, so it should be clean enough. Mechanically she changes the bedding, bundling up the soiled and stuffing it in her hamper, then she reaches in the closet for the unscented air freshener and sprays it, before bending to replace the comforter.

Every movement hurts, but she's learning to deal with it, power through it. She hates to admit it, but Peter was right. The bath and the food helped.

Footsteps in the hall make her freeze and she squeezes her eyes shut and waits for him to come in, to come up behind her, to touch her.

She's not surprised when he does, when he takes her arms and pulls her against his chest, his lips brushing the top of her head. Again, he entwines their right hands, the marks pressing together, and she...can feel something stirring inside her.

"You need to sleep," Peter murmurs, urging her to the bed. Surrendering--because, she's exhausted and this isn't worth fighting over--Stiles crawls beneath the comforter and turns her back on him to settle her head on the pillows. She hears the rustling of clothing, figures he's stripping again, hopefully only to his boxers, then the bed dips and he's behind her, wrapping an arm around her and spooning her.

"I...I hate you for doing this, Peter."

"I know. Shhh, go to sleep."

"I'll make you miserable."

"Stiles, go to sleep." That's more of a command and...and...she feels a pressure in her eyelids, a heaviness, and she feels...she feels...

Peter.

The bond.

Fuck no...

It's her last thought before she falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When she awakens the next morning, she's alone.

But, the rose is on the pillow beside her, the thorns stained with her blood, and the bite mark on her wrist has faded to white.

End

**Author's Note:**

> While I have a few more ideas for this not a series, I don't know if I'll ever write them. I don't see this ever being a loving relationship or even a very happy one. This Peter is probably more in line with the one on the show. He'll use Stiles to stay sane and cement his place in the Pack, all the while working towards becoming an Alpha again. Stiles will fight him and hate him, but she's trapped.


End file.
